


When the Knight Became the Dragon (Beauty and the Beast AU)

by ElzyZombie



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Action & Romance, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Angst and Feels, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dorks in Love, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I Lost My Mind Writing This Because It Works So Well, OTP Feels, Slow Burn, Steve Feels, Transformation, i'm sorry i know this next tag is for another fandom but it fits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-04-23 21:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElzyZombie/pseuds/ElzyZombie
Summary: After purposefully leaking information into a French Umbrella facility, Claire Redfield is brought to the Ashford residence as a bargaining chip in the trade for Chris Redfield's freedom. Claire plans to trade her knowledge for Chris' life, but those plans change when she meets her so-called captor: a lurid, mutated beast-man by the name of Steve Burnside.Claire refuses to give her information lightly, and Steve isn't willing to let her see her brother until she does, thus settling a rift between them. She is made a prisoner, confined to a small number of rooms for as long as the head of the estate deems fit.However, the more Claire learns about the manor—and Steve—the less she realizes what she's gotten herself into.
Relationships: Steve Burnside/Claire Redfield
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	When the Knight Became the Dragon (Beauty and the Beast AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bargaining chips are thrown across the table in a game where the gamblers—and prizes—are left unseen.

“Where are you keeping him?”

Claire groaned through her accusation as one of the soldiers jabbed her in the ribcage. She held no means to defend herself, not when her gun was in the hands of a guard and her own hands bound behind her back. Her shoulders ached from being thrust back so far by her restraints, and she rolled her neck as she shouted again.

“I swear, if you don’t release him upon entering, I’m calling this whole mess of an exchange off and you can kiss your confidential information goodbye—” Claire choked on her words when the same soldier thrust the butt of his rifle into her side. Coughing, she tripped.

“Shut up,” commanded the guard behind her. “No-one will have any say in the manner until the head of the manor decides you and your brother’s fate.”

Biting her tongue, Claire stared at the pavement her captors led her across. This was the whole point, the whole reason why she traveled to Europe in the first place and infiltrated a French Umbrella base. She would have had no bargaining power if she knew nothing, and she understood that.

That is exactly why she slipped impartial information about the G-virus into their archives.

Of course she kept Sherry and most of the relevant facts out of them, but the information she gave was not necessarily untrue. She had no other choice. Chris had been on their hit list longer than she could comprehend, and absolutely nothing would sway them from releasing him from their captivity. Nothing but an offer to exchange for someone who knew more than he.

Claire rose her head. The Ashford Manor neared, standing majestically against the light of the moon as she climbed ever so slowly to her throne amongst the stars. Pillars blackened by the night cast shadows over them as they moved into the mansion’s nest. Pavement turned to cobblestone, and open fields turned to chain link fences that surrounded them on all sides. Any hope for freedom died within their confines.

Screams and moans reverberated from every corner, too numerous and too loud for their origins to be discerned. Claire felt eyes stare through her, sensing her by warmth and not by sight. She kept her gaze trained on the doors of the mansion. She knew exactly what they were, even without looking.

No, she had felt their stares too many times before to forget. Raccoon City’s memories lingered too closely for her to ever forget the gaze of the living dead.

_ Without a doubt _ , she thought as she straightened her aching back, _ this place belongs to Umbrella _.

They ascended the stairs without a word. Every fiber of Claire’s being screamed to cement the exchange now, to demand council with the head of the manor and bring her brother out of captivity. But in their eyes she was a bargaining chip, and only the dealers spoke. The ropes cut against her skin. 

Thunder broke the silence before the grand entrance’s doors could. They opened from the inside, leaving the three soldiers surrounding Claire to keep a firm hold on her shoulders as they pushed her inside the mansion. Just as quickly as they opened, the doors closed behind her.

Before Claire could even catch her balance, one of the guards spoke. “Claire Redfield, sister of Chris Redfield, has arrived on the account of the bargain.”

His voice echoed throughout the hall as an uneasy reticence followed. Rain began to hammer the roof.

Claire darted her eyes from her gun in one guard’s hands, to the knife in the other’s, to the distance between them all. It would be foolish to try and escape now, and she knew that. In fact, it would be pointless: why sabotage the whole point of this exchange mission? No, she would wait. Wait until they brought Chris out, and then either run off together or trust he would return for her.

But this all hinged on the assumption that they would bring Chris out in the first place. The silence continued.

She couldn’t hold it in any longer. Claire shouldered her way out of her captors’ grasps and rushed into the center of the foyer. “I’m here, Ashford, just like I promised. Now keep yours and let Chris go!”

The end of her sentence faded into the slamming of a door somewhere on the second floor of the foyer. Claire took a step back. A shadow emerged from the right corner of the hall, enveloping nearly half the upper level. As it grew larger, it snuffed out any lit candles unfortunate to lie in its path.

Footsteps heavier and louder than any human rumbled throughout the foyer. The only distinguishment between that and the thunder outside was that Claire could feel her bones rattle with the former’s every pace. Claire watched as the maker of the sound emerged into the open.

He was a monster. Towering high above the top of the doorway behind him, he trudged into the open on digitigrade legs. He ran a claw over the railing, fingers deformed and merged together. As he entered fully into the light of the chandelier, the glow caught the scales that ran along his scarred forearms and elongated neck. Despite the rest of his body resembling a beast, his face remained relatively human. He stared across the anteroom’s visitors with slitted red eyes.

Claire still stood there in the middle of it all, torso awkwardly twisted by her restrictions and body rigid with disbelief. One thought managed to cross the white noise of her mind as the beast-man crossed the upper level: _ this was the head of the Ashford manor? _

The soldiers stepped out and overtook Claire again. She did not resist. The monster stopped in the center of the catwalk, and she met his gaze as it passed over her. His reptilian pupils widened slightly, and he held her stare. Slowly, he began to speak.

“She’s the one who has the information?” His voice was younger than Claire expected, rasped between deep breaths and from somewhere deep within his chest. She felt it in her own.

The soldiers straightened. “Yes. She’s here on behalf of the trade mentioned in the report,” replied the one holding a little too tightly onto her arm.

Heaving his great shoulders, the beast man nodded. “Very well,” he answered simply. “Let her go.”

Stiffening at his abrupt response, the soldiers remained silent. Their grips still persisted despite the order.

One soldier asked in a small voice, “Are we free to go?”

The beast man paused. He swept his gaze over the footmen, all the while his claws curling deeper around the handrailing. A thick silence drifted between them, allowing the tempest to beat loudly against the manor without interruptions.

“Yes,” he finally answered, although his expression twisted as though he tasted something sour. “You’re free to go.”

Claire felt herself being released from her restraints. The guards fell back, shoulders slumped with relief and eyes reflecting wide with joyful surprise behind the glass of their helmets. One of them responded, words falling over one another. “Thank you, the master’s kindness is much appreciated.”

The beast man bowed his head, retracting from the railing. “Hurry back to your quarters,” he answered quickly. Claire could see his eyes struggling to find anything else but the soldiers in the hall. “Tell no one of your duties today.”

The soldiers left in a hurry, not giving any indication that they had heard him. They slammed the grand doors behind them and left nothing but the deafening sound of their collision echoing in the hall.

Claire furrowed her brow, staring after the footmen, but decided it was best not to question as to why the beast-man was obviously lying. She turned her attention back at the railings, glaring up at the master of the house. She took a deep breath, but the words caught in her chest as the beast man descended the stairs.

“I’m here,” she stated pointlessly, pushing through the fear bubbling in her throat. “Release my brother right now, or the trade’s off.”

Without hesitating, the beast man answered in a tone much lighter than she was expecting. “He’ll be released, just keep your pants on, lady.” As he climbed the last step, Claire backed away. He stared at her face, not her eyes. “We still need to determine the information you have is worthy of such a trade.”

Furrowing her brow, Claire bit her lip. Technically, she _ had _said she’d trade her information for her brother. Vainly, she searched the figure of her captor for any keys or cards that would possibly lead to her brother’s keeping place. Her attention snapped back to his eyes when he held out his mangled claw for her to take.

He must have had horrible eyesight, because Claire’s arms were still clearly bound. She folded her hands from behind her back, sidestepping around him and eyeing the stairs. He remained in her peripheral vision. “Fine,” she replied, snapping with the tension tightening throughout her entire body. “Lead the way, Ashford.”

The beast man recoiled a little at the name, blinking in surprise at the woman. A low growl rumbled in his chest, slowly growing into a harsh, coughing laugh. “Wait,” he stammered through a breath. “You… You think I’m an Ashford?”

Claire felt her face growing hot for reasons she didn’t understand. She crossed her arms. “Well, who else would I think you’d be? You answered to the title, you’re the first one who greeted us, and—”

“Oh, that last point means nothing.” He waved a claw, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you know rich people usually have butlers to do things beneath them, like answer doors and throw things at peasants?”

She furrowed her brow at him, studdering a response she didn’t have. He interrupted before she could find it.

“Nah, I’m just the face of the house. More of a scapegoat than anything else.” The more he talked, the more of what little poise he held slipped away. He sounded like a teenager. “Name’s Steve. Steve Burnside.”

Claire continued to gape confusedly at her captor, dropping whatever former attempt at words she had and now offering the beast-man named Steve a small grimace. He stared pointedly at her as if waiting, finally finding her grey-blue eyes and holding their gaze with his own.

It dawned on her that he was waiting for her name. “I’m Claire Redfield,” she responded slowly. “But you should’ve known that by now. The guards announced me when I came in.”

Steve laughed that growl-chuckle again, turning away from her and towards the stairs. “Yeah, I never really listened to them in the first place,” he threw over his shoulder, shortly followed by his face as he peered back at her. “You coming?”

Slumping her shoulders, Claire shook her head. She completely gave up trying to understand the situation and her captor’s nonchalant attitude towards her imprisonment. She took a step forward, but halted jarringly as the ropes dug deeper into her skin.

“Can you untie me first?” asked she, jerking her shoulders in a vain attempt to release tension there. “I’m not gonna be able to focus on the information you want if I’m getting rope-burns the entire interrogation.”

Steve, already half-ascending the stairs, turned to glower at her. “Forget it,” he replied. “I don’t know how many interrogations you’ve been in, but they’re not supposed to be comfortable.”

Claire blinked, attempting to sour her expression enough to make up for the fact that her hands were unable to be placed incredulously on her hips. “I’m sorry, but who was the one who solidified this trade in the first place? Don’t they deserve that luxury?”

Before she could answer her hypothetical question, Steve answered it. “The Ashfords. You only suggested the trade, and they decided to take you up on it instead of killing you.” He added the next statement with a roll of his eyes, “And they have _wayyyyy_ more than enough luxuries.”

Claire opened her mouth in hopes that she could come up with a retaliation as she did so. She did not. Steve continued before she could.

“On top of that, there’s no way I’m letting you try a ‘daring escape’ on my watch.” He held up his claws, obviously trying to imitate air quotes with what little mobility in his digits he possessed. “The minute I’d untie those ropes, you’ll make a mad dash for the exit.”

Claire stared up at the ceiling, stopping mid-eye roll, not wanting to fully roll her eyes in case he decided he was bored with her attitude and wanted to permanently stop it. “I’m not gonna run,” she countered. _ And if I did, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to get killed that easily _, she mentally added.

He growled, yellowed slivers of canines peeking through his scarred lips. “What, like I’m going to believe that? And even if I did,” he took a step down the stairs to emphasise his next point, “and I _don’t_, by the way, There’s guards and goons stationed at every corner. They’re not exactly bright enough to recognize a prisoner that needs to be kept alive, and I doubt _you’re _bright enough to make it past them in one piece. What makes you think that you’re going to change my mind?”

The rope dug deeper into Claire’s skin as she made fists around them. Normally this petty talk wouldn’t bother her—she had her fair share of Umbrella goons who spat much worse in her face. But now, after worrying sick about her brother for a month, infiltrating an armed base, being knocked out, and walking a long, cold trek through the rain while tightly bound, her patience was thoroughly frayed.

“I survived the tragedy of Raccoon City,” she snarled, fury blinding her reason. “I single-handedly broken into a French facility of your employers. I have the skills to slip past you, find the room where Chris is, break him out, and get both our asses out of this sickening excuse for a mansion.” She spat out the next statement, not realizing how close she drew to the beast-man until she was staring up at him from the first step. “Is that enough reason to change?”

Steve’s reptilian eyes narrowed. The hall echoed with the tremor of his steps as he descended towards her, his talons running against the garrish red carpet and piercing the wood beneath. He craned his neck down to her level so that their eyes met on equal heights. His claw dropped from the banister, leaving deep gouges in the wood. They curled into a tight arc.

Claire remained stoic, holding his glare, expressionless save for the slightest crease in her brow. She could see his features clearly at this distance—the insect-like legs sprouting from the sides of his ribcage, the tusks protruding like fangs at the corners of his mouth, the slipping humanity ripping the light from his eyes...

At the slightest twitch in his face, he was different. Claire could feel the color drain from her face, leaving her with nothing but the coldness of the air that Steve now drew in with a deep breath. His voice was scathingly low, impossibly distant—as if a wild animal had found a voice and was speaking for the first time.

“No. It isn’t.”

And with that, the humanity returned.

Steve turned away, leaving Claire to release a breath she hadn’t realized she held. As he furthered up the stairs, she felt as though a lead pit had dropped in her stomach. She blew it, completely shot any hopes of escaping before she could reveal her information. There would be more guards than she could count watching her every hour, waiting for the cocky survivor to work her magic and pull a daring slip.

Well, if listing off the reasons why she should be put into a highest security cell they owned wasn’t a daring slip, Claire didn’t know what was.

Sighing, she began up the stairs after her captor. Steve remained silent, not even giving Claire a glance back to show that he knew she was there. Rain began to pound the high ceiling of the mansion, the thunder all but masking their footsteps and the heavy beating of Claire’s heart. Her tense fingers uncurled from around her restrains, splinters lifting from the rough weaves and shocking feeling back into her skin. Watching Steve’s movements, she ignored it.

Picking up her pace, Claire tiptoed onto the landing of the staircase until she stood side-by-side with her captor. “So, uhm…” she began, tripping over her words, desperate to break the silence. “Where is—”

A guard emerged from one of the doors on the catwalk above them, interrupting her. “Oi there, boy,” he called, and Claire felt Steve stiffen beside her.

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbled.

Despite herself, Claire felt a bit of selfish victory at his irritated tone. She glanced up to savor his expression, feeling as though there was some payback to the attitude he gave her previously. But however much Claire wanted to enjoy his annoyance at the name, she couldn’t. Not when she looked up at him, all she saw was the fear of an abused, cornered animal reflected in the whites of his eyes.

“I’ll call you whatever works,” the soldier threw back. “And that one does.”

Steve tried his hardest to ignore that last statement and changed the subject. “What do you need?” He nodded towards the bound woman. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

The militaristically-garbed soldier waved it off with a shrug, descending the stairs. “Ashford requested an update on the troupe that brought in the female Redfield. They were sent to the facility, correct?”

Steve hesitated, shifting a little away from the base of the stairs on which the general stood. “There was only one regime, right?” he asked instead.

Claire furrowed her brow, staring as Steve feigned remembering by darting his eyes around the ceiling. He was stalling.

The general, locking his jaw, stomped the last few steps to the landing. “Yes, and were they sent to the facility as Master Ashford requested?”

Although she hardly knew him well enough to make statements about his character, Claire guessed that Steve wasn’t a good liar.

_ However… _ she turned to the general. _ That was without help. _

“They were,” she answered. The soldier snapped his attention to her. She met it unflinchingly. “He sent them to the facility as soon as I was brought in.”

She saw Steve gape at her from the corner of her eye, but he caught on quick enough to pull himself together. “Yeah—Yes. They’re on their way to the facility as we speak,” he added, maybe a little too eager but not enough to seem ingenuine. “I told them Ashford wanted them there, and you can see that Redfield can vouch for that.”

The general narrowed his eyes, but couldn’t argue with another eyewitness. He bowed his head. “Very well. I will make sure to relay it back to Master Ashford, then.” Turning on his tail, he called back without looking and waving a stiff hand. “I’ll be back to collect the reports from the interrogation.”

Steve nodded gratefully and stammered a response, but the general already disappeared through the door he entered. A fragile reticence drifted after him, thickening the air but making it insufferably, dizzyingly thin at the same time.

Finally, Steve turned to Claire. “Hey, uh… you didn’t need to do that.”

Claire shrugged, staring at her feet. “Don’t worry about it. It looked like you needed a hand there, that guy didn’t look like he’d take any single word for the truth.”

A feeble, trembling laugh dribbled from Steve’s mouth, still recovering from the scare. “Yeah. You can say that again.” His voice dropped a few octaves—although in an attempt to keep it quiet, not in vehemence. “Thanks.”

Claire gave him a close-lipped smile, shuffling her feet. She didn’t answer him.

Another long pause divided them. Something flashed behind Steve’s eyes—something panicked—but it died before Claire could fully comprehend it. And then, silently, he approached her.

Claire thought she had angered him somehow. She stepped back, rigid, angling herself in as defensive as a position she could handle as he drew close. He stopped, eyes darting around her figure, and Claire recoiled a little when he began to circle around her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, the question coming out a little more harsh than she would have liked.

Steve straightened, staring down at her with scarlet eyes reflecting embarrassment and hurt. “I’m, uhm… I’m trying to get the ropes.”

Claire blinked in surprise, realizing that she would need to turn her back on him in order for him to untie them. Her heart hammered against her chest and her cheeks flushed with dread, but she quietly rotated herself away from him regardless. She felt as his taloned, scaled fingers gently brush against her skin near the ropes. Uncharactaristically silent, he began to undo them.

Despite how close he was to her, Claire didn’t feel any warmth coming from his body. It wasn’t that he was cold---the claws that sparingly touched her while carefully unworking the ropes from around her wrists felt lukewarm, at the very least. However, not even the scentless breath that lightly tousled her hair from above and behind her retained any heat. It was as if he were a ghost: unquestionably present in reality, but not entirely there.

“There,” his murmur jolted her out of her thoughts and back into the cold palace, “now we’re even.”

Claire rolled her neck and shoulders, and the bonds slipped through her arms. Steve backed away from her quickly, clearing his throat with a noise that sounded like a lion’s moaning roar.

“We should get going,” he stated, and gestured to the stairs when Claire turned to face him. “I don’t think either of us want to be here all night.” His laid-back unprofessionalism was returning to his voice, but his actions were stiff.

Bowing her head, Claire obliged. She climbed the steps, half-suppressing a shiver as she heard his heavy footsteps following behind her. Despite her best efforts, she shot a glance over her shoulder before snapping it back to the stairs. The beast-man had been staring at her, but not in a way that suggested hostility or lechery. As soon as their eyes had met, he turned his head away, and in that moment that she saw a kind of hope in them. A hope that echoed the same, distressed light in his eyes as before he began to get her untied.

Claire straightened her shoulders as they climbed, and realized with a lead-heavy heart that she wasn’t the only prisoner in the Ashford residence.

* * *

Alfred leaned back in his chair, staring out over his estate through the office’s wall of paned windows. It wasn’t much of a sight, what with the storm dying the grounds with an inky darkness and pelting the glass with rain, but he had just witnessed the sun set into a pool of blood-orange sky before the tempest hit. The memory of its clashing of colors kept him entertained as the lull of the thunder kept him and his freshly-polished military-grade sniper rifle company.

Granted, he wasn’t too lonely (in the general sense of the word, that is—he always felt a sense of emptiness in this wretched, horrible mansion). His captain had just entered his office, giving him the last report on his “scapegoat brigade,” as he liked to call them, and the latest update on his little pet. Alfred dismissed him, already imagining the gruesome scene at the facility, and the captain left without another word.

Smart man. Alfred was restless, and one more peep from a close prey would have been painted them as the perfect target for him to practice on.

Voices wafted up from other rooms in the palace, echoing through the vents and hiding the motives of their speakers. He didn’t need to guess much as to who they were, however: the familiar, young whine of his monstrous servant and the smooth yet harsh objections of a female stranger narrowed down the possible candidates.

Alfred sighed and stood up. Claire Redfield, sister of that fool Chris who tried to break into his premises a few months prior. He had been incarcerated in a quick and timely manner, of course. Only a moron would try to break into the Ashford residence alone. He didn’t stand a chance.

His growing, twitching smile—fueled by manic rage and joy—faltered as the pair of voices grew close. Taking one last glance out the window, he punched a code into the computer on his desk and watched as the bookshelf in the corner of the room shifted away from the wall. He walked through the open secret passage and into the dark, stone-damp hall, closing the bookshelf behind him with one hand.

Alexia would need to know that the “bargain” was in motion.

**Author's Note:**

> So I was on my way to class, minding my own business, when WA-POW, this idea hit me like a slap to the face.
> 
> Beauty and the Beast? Amazing. BurnField? Fantastic. A BatB BurnField AU? Absolute perfection, just lay me down quietly so I can cry in peace.
> 
> I changed the layout of the main Ashford palace so that it's more of a combination between the original, the private residence, and the mansion in the Antarctic facility. I also changed the general layout of their land. It can't be a proper Beauty and the Beast AU without a larger-than-life property, right?
> 
> Claire and Steve are around the same ages here, with Claire being 19/20 and Steve being 18/19.
> 
> I love this pairing with a burning passion and I will continue to make fics of Steve until Capcom either brings him back or remakes CVX.


End file.
